


Spend your days (But they all add up)

by dezemberzarin



Series: I Lived Verse [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t even like Christmas Fairs,” Mario whined. “And we’ll be mobbed within minutes, once someone recognizes us.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t let the teenage girls corner you this time,” Marco promised, unable to keep the smirk off his face at the memory. “And <em>I</em> like Christmas Fairs, they’re awesome. Glühwein, waffles, carousels. What’s not to like?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spend your days (But they all add up)

**Author's Note:**

> This one took me a long time, mainly because these installments just keep getting longer, for whatever reason. I hope it's worth the wait. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos on the prequel, you have no idea how much motivation it gives me on the days when the story just won't write itself. I messed with the timeline again, but since the story is complete fantasy, I've just decided to run with it. This work is unbetaed, so if you spot any mistakes, bear with me. As always, I appreciate any feedback, positive or negative <3

Marco was a sound sleeper. It had delighted his parents when he was a child. Unlike his sisters Marco had the ability to sleep anywhere, be it a strange bed at a relatives’ house, or the backseat of their car. And now that he played football professionally and spent more time than he liked on busses or planes in close quarters with twenty other guys, Marco had come to appreciate it as well. It was a great way to get some peace and quiet when everything around him was just too much. Once he was asleep it didn’t matter that people were talking and playing music, Marco was dead to the world. Caro always joked that the smoke detector she’d gotten him to install in the bedroom was pretty much redundant, as Marco would just sleep through any fire or alarm that tried to warn him about one. 

None of this explained why he was awake at four in the morning, trying in vain to fall back asleep while Mario was banging around in the bathroom. And really. There was no other way to describe the racket his best friend made other than banging. What was he _doing_ in there? If Marco hadn’t been too tired for anything of the sort, he would have feared for his appliances. A particularly loud cluttering noise made Marco groan and he pulled one of the pillows over his head, a feeble attempt to drown out his surroundings.

It wasn’t just the noise. Mario would be back in bed within minutes, pressing his freezing feet against Marco’s calves, the damn bastard. One shouldn’t think that it was possible to get feet that cold from standing on a bathroom floor for a few minutes, but Mario somehow managed it. Marco might as well stop trying to go back to sleep at this point, there was nothing worse than being woken up that way. He should know; he’d already gone through it earlier that night. _Twice_. Marco was starting to regret asking Mario to stay over. 

Well. That wasn’t entirely true, no matter how annoyed he felt at the world and Mario and his sleeping habits in particular right then. He liked it when Mario stayed at his place over night; it had taken Marco a lot of convincing to get Mario to agree to it after all. By now, his best friend usually slept over for one or two nights every week, mostly when they didn’t have training the next day. 

Marco had missed having someone to fall asleep and wake up next to; he’d always slept better when it wasn’t just him in his bed. If it hadn’t been for Mario’s astonishing ability to knock at least three things off the shelves every time he used the bathroom at night, Marco couldn’t have been happier with the arrangement. The sounds of the running faucet quickly made Marco shut his eyes in anticipation of what was about to happen next. Seconds later the door to the bathroom opened and light fell onto the bed, making Marco groan even though his eyes were tightly shut at this point. 

“Sorry,” Mario whispered. As if talking out loud now would make a bit of difference, Marco thought with sleep-deprived hysteria.

Mario was already slipping back beneath the sheets and yep, his feet were the temperature of the fucking arctic. Marco grumbled, but resigned himself to his fate as he rolled over, slinging an arm around Mario and burying his face in the back of his neck. His best friend was bound to warm up quicker that way and this part was almost worth it, the scent of Mario’s shampoo and the soft tickle of his hair against Marco’s nose very nearly distracting him from the fact that his legs would have to be amputated from frostbite after Mario was through using them as a heating device. Still, Marco had to somehow voice his frustration at the situation in general. 

“Your bladder is the size of a walnut,” Marco complained, his lips brushing against Mario’s skin. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Mario said and he sounded half asleep again already, which was really not fair considering how very awake Marco was right now. “I’m an athlete, I drink a lot. It’s a sign of a well-working metabolism.” 

“It’s a sign of early incontinence, is what it is,” Marco shot back. “You should have your prostate checked.” 

There was a pause and Marco groaned, realizing his mistake too late. Mario turned against him as best as he could with Marco’s arm still wrapped around his waist and Marco could feel him laughing, the bastard. When Mario spoke again, he sounded a lot more awake and way too amused for Marco’s liking. “Are you volunteering? I need to be honest with you here, you’ve had better pick-up lines.” 

“I don’t need pick-up lines, I’ve already done the picking-up,” Marco grumbled, using his hold on Mario to pull him closer. “See? You are very much picked-up, so shut your fucking mouth and go to sleep.”

“You started it,” Mario pointed out reasonably and Marco wanted to counter that, no, Mario’s inability to not sound like a stampede when he went to the bathroom and his icicle toes had, in fact, started it, but Mario had finally managed to turn against him and was scooting down a little to tuck his head underneath Marco’s chin. And alright, maybe, just _maybe_ Marco could deal with waking up a couple of times at night, if this was what he got in return. 

*

In addition to being a sound sleeper, Marco was and always had been a morning person, something his sisters had endlessly resented him for when they were all still going to school. While they’d been rolling around in bed, getting increasingly angrier wake-up calls from their father and fighting over the shower once they actually managed to get up, Marco had already been dressed and at the breakfast table, sometimes even heading out for a run before going to school. He’d loved running that early, the streets deserted and the air clear and cold, only the sounds of birds and the slap of his own feet against the asphalt around him. 

Mario was decidedly _not_ a morning person. In fact, Marco felt that if there was ever an election held to crown the king of late-morning lie-ins, Mario would probably win hands down. His best friend had once told him that a big factor in deciding to become a football player was the opportunity to get up late, since most of the time their training didn’t start before ten or eleven. Back then Marco had been fairly certain he’d been joking, but since Mario had started to spend some nights at Marco’s place, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. 

Marco usually set his alarm to eight when Mario slept over and he was already half-awake by the time his cell went off, just dozing and enjoying the feeling of warmth that came from another body curled up next to his. When the alarm sounded, Mario made a sound like a cat that had its fur stroked the wrong way; pushing his face into Marco’s chest in what was probably an attempt to get away from the noise. “Make it stop,” he mumbled, the words muffled against Marco’s shirt. 

Marco had to stretch a little to reach his phone, trying not to move too much since Mario was partly on top of him, one leg between Marco’s and his arm thrown haphazardly across his chest. Silencing the chime, Marco ran a hand up the back of Mario’s neck, pushing his fingers into his hair and stroking gently. “We need to get up, Sunny.”

“Lies,” Mario muttered, his body already relaxing again, now that the alarm had been shut off. “’S still time.” 

Marco grinned a little. “Not if you want to have breakfast before we go. You love breakfast. Toast, müsli, yoghurt…”

“Hate breakfast,” Mario insisted, his capability of forming full sentences fading fast along with his consciousness. 

“I’ll cut a smiley into your toast,” Marco offered, a tried and proven tactic when dealing with his nephew. Mario seemed less impressed, if his continued silence was anything to go by. Marco tried again. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I’ll be naked, just in case you were wondering.”

“’S a shower, course you’ll be naked,” Mario said, his words nearly unintelligible. He didn’t even open his eyes and Marco was a tad offended now. He would have liked to think sex with him ranked above toast in the list of incentives to get Mario out of bed, but apparently not. He sighed and disentangled himself from Mario, who made a sleepy noise of protest but still didn’t open his eyes, instead curling up into a ball and pulling the sheets around him like an oversized caterpillar wrapping itself into a cocoon. Marco stretched once he got out of bed, feeling his spine pop and threw one last glance at his best friend. 

“I’m gonna toss you out, once I get back from the shower,” he threatened and Mario made a content noise in response, clearly not listening to a word Marco was saying. 

Marco showered quickly, leaving time for his morning routine of getting his hair to cooperate. He’d have to do it again after training, but for now the results were satisfying. Padding back nakedly into the bedroom, he dug through his closet and pulled on some clothes, deliberately making noise in a feeble attempt to rouse Mario. His best friend seemed oblivious to Marco’s efforts, slumbering peacefully even when Marco tossed his wet towel on top of his sleeping form. Clearly, more forceful measures needed to be taken. 

Marco climbed up on the bed and peeled the blankets off Mario, who whined in protest as he was exposed to the cool air. Not paying attention to that, Marco draped himself along his best friend, leaving a trail of kisses along his shoulder and jaw and running his nose over Mario’s cheek. “Last warning. Get up now, or I’ll come in here and throw a bucket of water on you.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Mario said sleepily. “You hate changing the sheets.” 

“I’ll make _you_ change them,” Marco countered and Mario finally turned his head, opening his eyes to glare at him. Marco grinned. “Good morning.” 

“How can you be so happy this early in the day?” Mario groaned. “It’s not natural.” 

“It’s not early, it’s nearly eight thirty,” Marco said mildly. “And you need to get your ass out of bed, if you want to get any breakfast before leaving.” 

“Ugh, fine. Get off me, I’ll be there in a second.” 

“Nice try,” Marco laughed. “Up. Now.” 

Mario gave him a dirty look. “You’re literally on top of me right now.”

“You usually don’t complain about that,” Marco said and smirked when the remark brought a flush to Mario’s cheeks. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of getting that reaction from him. Knowing he was pushing his luck, Marco ran a finger along Mario’s cheekbone, relishing in the heat of the skin. To his surprise Mario leaned into the touch, lifting his head to place a gentle kiss on Marco’s mouth. He pushed at Marco’s chest until he rolled over, crawling on top of him with astounding agility for a person who’d been asleep two minutes ago. 

Marco sighed when Mario slid his tongue into his mouth, kissing him back unhurriedly, enjoying the feel of Mario on top of him. He was already half-hard and when Mario pushed his hips against his, he couldn’t prevent a groan from escaping. Instead of following up on the implied promise however, Mario suddenly got up on all fours, hands placed on the mattress next to Marco’s head. Marco gazed up at him in confusion and Mario gave him an impertinent grin. 

“Breakfast you said?” With that he scrambled up and off Marco, who was gaping after him. That little…

“Uncool!” he yelled after the retreating Mario, who didn’t even turn around as he replied. 

“You wake me up, you pay the price. Now, I believe I was promised smiley toast?” He disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later Marco heard the shower starting to run, signaling the start of Mario’s endless primping session in the morning. Marco could relate. Their vanity was one of the many things the two of them had in common. For a brief moment Marco contemplated following Mario and making him finish what he’d just started, but his hair was already in perfect condition and he really didn’t feel like doing that all over again, once it got wet. 

Instead, Marco rolled off the bed and onto his feet, traipsing into the kitchen to start on breakfast. And because unlike Mario he’d never been able to hold onto a grudge, Marco cut the toast into smiley shapes, if a bit more viciously than was strictly necessary. By the time Mario wandered into the kitchen, Marco was already on his second cup of coffee, absently checking twitter on his phone. 

“Your bathroom needs windows.” Mario sank into the chair opposite Marco, making a grab for the müsli box. “The mirror keeps fogging up.” 

“I have ventilators,” Marco said, not looking up from his phone. “They just can’t handle someone showering for twenty minutes with scalding water.” 

“I get cold,” Mario said defensively and wasn’t that the truth. If Marco had a nickel for every time he’d had to wrap Mario in his own jacket to keep him from shivering violently, he’d be…well, he’d be marginally richer than he already was. 

Across the table, Mario made a displeased noise and Marco glanced up to see him swallow down a spoonful of müsli with a grimace, crinkling his nose in a way Marco was determined not to find adorable. The line had to be drawn somewhere. “What?” 

“Why does this have raisins in it?” Mario asked, still looking like he’d bitten into a lemon. 

“Probably because I bought the kind that has raisins,” Marco said, turning the box around so Mario could see. “I like raisins.” 

“Ugh,” Mario muttered, starting to pick through his bowl and painstakingly separating the raisins from the rest of the contents. 

Marco couldn’t prevent a grin from spreading on his face. Mario was one of his favorite people in the entire world, but there was no denying that his best friend was just a _bit_ spoiled. Luckily, Marco didn’t mind indulging him most of the time. 

“Give them here,” he said, offering his own empty bowl.

Mario scraped the tiny heap of raisins he’d already gathered into Marco’s bowl and then dug back into his own with renewed gusto. Marco couldn’t help it, he snorted a laugh and Mario glanced up at him, eyebrows knitting together into a frown. “What?” he asked, his mouth still half-full.

“Brat,” Marco accused him fondly and grinned at the outraged expression on Mario’s face. He gathered his own empty plates and got up, ruffling Mario’s hair as he passed him to place them on the counter. “C’mon. You know it’s true. Do you want coffee?”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Mario said primly, hand flying up to fix his hair. “And I’ll take the coffee to go, I’m running late as it is.” 

“If you didn’t take forty-five minutes to finish in the bathroom, that wouldn’t happen each time.” 

Mario snorted. “You can talk. Need I remind you of that time we had to tell Kloppo you were delayed with the doping control, when really you were just having a hairspray crisis?” He shoveled the last few spoons of muesli into his mouth and got up, bearing an uncanny likeliness to a hamster until he swallowed. 

“I don’t use hairspray,” Marco said, offended, because _really_. How long had they known each other? “It dries out the roots. Also, if you’d just let me drive you, you wouldn’t have to hurry right now.”

It was a touchy aubject between them and Marco immediately regretted bringing it up when he saw Mario’s face go blank, that calm, inscrutable expression he wore for the public so often, slipping into place. Marco suppressed a sigh. They’d been sleeping together for nearly two months now and Marco thought they were dealing fairly well with keeping the changes in their relationship quiet. None of their friends suspected anything, not even Mats, who knew about Mario after all. 

None of this had helped quell what Marco could only call Mario’s paranoia about someone discovering that their friendship wasn’t entirely platonic anymore. Mario was adamant about keeping to the rules they (well, Mario) had established at the beginning of their…whatever it was they were doing. It meant he wouldn’t stay at Marco’s place over night more than two times a week and he always, _always_ drove his own car to the training grounds the next morning, leaving early so their timed arrivals wouldn’t raise any red flags. 

Marco was pretty sure their friends wouldn’t immediately accuse them of fucking each other just because they came to training in the same car once or twice, but there was no point in arguing about it with Mario. His best friend clung to these rules like a lifeline and Marco knew better than to try and convince him otherwise by now. Most of the time anyway. 

“Fine,” Marco sighed and knew he wasn’t doing a good job of keeping the disappointment from his voice. “Two cars.” 

Mario’s expression was pinched, but he took the travel mug Marco held out to him, hesitating for a moment before stepping into Marco’s space and getting up on his toes to press a kiss to his mouth. Marco wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back hungrily, because even though he was a bit put-out, he wouldn’t get a chance to do this until much later today. It took them nearly a minute to pull apart and Mario’s expression had smoothed out by then, even though he was wrinkling his nose again. 

“You taste like raisins,” he said and Marco groaned, letting go of his waist. 

“And there’s that moment ruined.”

Mario grinned at him. “We were having a moment?” 

“We were, now it passed. Go, we’re cutting it close already.” 

“Alright, alright.” Mario grabbed two slices of toast off the table and was already halfway out of the door when he paused. “Why do these look so angry?” He held up one of the toast-smileys. 

“It’s the eyebrows,” Marco explained. “They’re supposed to be you.” 

Having the fruits of your own labor thrown at you, Marco mused as he ducked, really was no way to start the day. 

*

When Marco walked into the dressing room and slung his bag onto the bench, most of the team was there already, including Kloppo who gave Marco and his watch a significant look. Marco winced. He knew he had to tread carefully, it was the third time this month he’d been late, if only a few minutes. Mario’s insistence on not arriving at the same time meant that Marco usually waited for ten minutes after Mario pulled out of his parking lot until he followed in his own car. And since Mario wasn’t known for being overly punctual, Marco was usually damn near sprinting from his car to get to the training grounds on time. 

Marco wanted to shoot Mario a glare, but quickly averted his eyes when he saw that his best friend was in the middle of pulling on his jerseys, his naked chest very much on display. He felt a bit embarrassed at his own reaction, but Marco had learnt quickly to avoid situations that might get him into hot water in that regard. While his brain knew the distinction between a naked, sweaty Mario in Marco’s flat and a naked, or even half-naked, sweaty Mario in the dressing room, the message hadn’t been relayed to Marco’s cock yet. 

Before he’d started sleeping with his best friend, Marco had never quite realized how sexual some components of professional football really were. And even though Marco’s libido was dealing beautifully with his attraction to Mario, sometimes his head hadn’t quite gotten with the program yet and the surge of arousal when Mario did perfectly normal things like walk around with only his shorts and cleats on, nearly floored him. Marco blamed the socks, really. Mario had a way of pulling the damned things over his knees that just did something to him. As did his best friend’s habit of constantly bending over to adjust them. 

The commotion of the other guys filing out of the dressing room brought Marco back to the present and he realized with a start that he wasn’t even half-dressed yet. Cursing Mario and his damned sock-wearing habits in his head, Marco quickly finished pulling on his kit and grabbed his water bottle, heading for the door. Everyone else was already gone, but Mario was waiting for him, wearing a smirk that had Marco rolling his eyes before he even opened his mouth. 

“Pretty tardy, Reus. Did you heed the speed-limit for once?”

“Not everyone drives like a grandmother, _Götze_. And for _some_ reason I had to sweep my kitchen floor before I left this morning.” 

Mario kept his innocent expression as they headed out into the freezing air, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Well, I’m sure it needed a good scrub anyway. And I do not drive like a grandmother.”

Marco actually laughed out loud at that. “You are the slowest driver in the whole world, Mario. Grass growing is faster than you trying to make a left-hand turn.” 

Mario scowled, coming to a stop and facing Marco. “Oh, really? Well, last one to the pitch has to shotgun later, no comments allowed.” With that he threw his water bottle at Marco, who barely caught it, and took off at a dead run for the training grounds, where some of the guys were already gearing up for agility exercises. Marco didn’t waste any breath on yelling expletives after Mario, although a part of him really wanted to. 

But even though Marco was faster than Mario on any given day, his best friend _did_ have a decent head start and the stretch to the pitch wasn’t that long. So Marco sprinted after him, icy morning air and the sheer joy of outright running flooding through his chest as his legs ate up the distance. He caught Mario right by the gate, wrapping both arms around him from behind as he stopped him from entering the pitch. 

“Cheater,” he panted, trying to keep hold of a squirming and laughing Mario. Feeling mean, Marco started to tickle him, just because he could. 

Despite the estimated ten layers he was wearing, Mario yelped with laughter, trying in vain to get out of Marco’s grip. “I’m- fuck Marco, you _asshole_ \- not a cheater. You’re just – fuck – slow on the uptake.” 

“Am I now,” Marco smirked, mercilessly running his hands up Mario’s sides and hitting all the spots he knew were bound to make his best friend collapse into helpless laughter. “I caught _you_ quick enough.” 

Mario was trying to reply, but he was laughing too hard by now to actually form words and Marco was pretty sure the only thing that kept him from sinking to the frozen ground was Marco’s hold on him. If Marco had his way, he would have tortured him a bit longer to drive the message home, but Kloppo chose that moment to bark at them across the field. 

“Götze, Reus! If the two of you are done living out your prepubescent urges, I’d kindly invite you to join us. Today, if possible!” 

Marco immediately let go of Mario and the two of them quickly jogged over to the other guys. Mario, although still red-faced and out of breath, gave Kloppo his best contrite puppy-dog eyes, muttering a “Sorry, coach.” and God, Marco could see their trainer’s expression softening already, falling hook, line and sinker for Mario’s wide-eyed-innocent act. If Marco or anyone else had tried that apology, Kloppo would have made them run a lap. Mario’s face really gave him an unfair advantage. 

As if to prove the point, Mario stuck his tongue out at Marco as soon as Kloppo’s back was turned, frolicking away past a chortling Kevin, who slapped Marco’s shoulder in sympathy. “Face it, man. He’s his favorite.” 

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Marco replied wryly, grabbing one of the colored shirts the assistant coaches were handing out. 

Kevin elbowed him with a grin. “Well, at least _we_ don’t get carded every single time we go out to get a drink. Which reminds me. Are you guys still coming to the Christmas Fair with us later?” 

Marco paused, glancing over at Mario, who was already kicking a ball around with Lewy and Kuba. “That’s today?” 

“Last opportunity,” Kevin reminded him. “The game is in two days and after that everyone is going home for the break. And I doubt Kloppo would approve if we went and got smashed the night before a game.” 

“I doubt he’d approve if we got smashed, period,” Marco said and Kevin rolled his eyes at him. 

“Oh please, I was there on Lewy’s birthday. Mario had to damn near carry you to the car, if I recall correctly.”  
Marco, who remembered that night very vividly and for entirely different reasons, chose not to go into that. “For a guy that almost peed on my roof terrace, you’re on a pretty high horse right now.”

“Whatever, man,” Kevin groaned, clearly put out at being reminded of that little incident. “Are you coming, or what?” 

Marco nodded distractedly. “Count me in. When are we leaving?” 

“After tactical this afternoon. What about your better half?” 

Marco tried hard not to react to that. He knew Kevin was just ribbing them; there was no way his friend actually suspected something. “He’ll be there. I’ll drag him there myself, if I have to.” 

“Großkreutz, Reus! Are we paying you for standing around and looking pretty?!” Kloppo sounded close to a coronary and Kevin and Marco exchanged a long-suffering look as they shuffled over to the other guys and joined their respective teams. 

Kloppo and the assistant coaches were merciless that day, chasing all of them around the pitch until they were soaked through with sweat, despite the freezing temperatures. They all knew the last game of the first leg of the season was important and the prospect of going into the break with a win was motivation enough for them to keep the grumbling to a minimum, even when Kloppo made them go through the standards over and over again, watching everything with a grim expression. His mood hadn’t really been the best lately, with Bayern as far ahead in the Bundesliga table as they were. 

They ran through a couple of more exercises before Kloppo sent them off for food. The whole team seemed too exhausted to talk on the way to the showers and only when the physical trainers came in and announced there would be a physical assessment session before tactical later everyone stirred, groans and complaints filling the dressing room. Their head physio smiled meanly. “We’ll note down your weight, too, so think about that when you’re enjoying your Christmas goose during the break.” 

“That’s pretty assumptive,” Nuri muttered. “Some of us don’t even celebrate Christmas.” 

Marco gave him an apologetic shrug and was about to zip up his jacket and go grab some food, when he heard Mats’ voice across the dressing room.  
“You do realize he was talking about you, Mario,” his friend said and Marco could hear the grin that was on his face without having to turn around.  
“Most definitely,” Kevin agreed and Marco glanced over his shoulder to see him wrap his arm around Mario, trying to pinch his cheek. “Our little _Pummelfee_. “ 

Mario snorted and stepped on his foot in response, shaking off Kevin’s arm. “Don’t worry about me, Großkreutz. That melon you call a head is pretty permanent I’m afraid, no diet in the world can help you with that.” He shrugged into his jacket and crossed the room to where Marco was waiting, as Mats and Kehli burst into laughter. 

“I’m afraid he’s got you there, man,” Mats said and leaned over to pat Kevin’s head. “I pity your mother.” 

“Oh, fuck all of you and don’t you talk shit about my mother’s vagina, Hummels. I’ll have you know my mother’s vagina could handle ten heads the size of mine.” 

There was a moment of horrified silence. “ _Dude_ ,” Mats said. “I mean, just. No. So much no.” 

“What?” Kevin cried and Mario rolled his eyes, tugging on Marco’s sleeve. “Let’s go before Kevin decides to share more details about his mother than anyone wanted to have.” 

Marco let himself be pulled along and they got their food from the buffet in the dining hall, sitting down at one of the smaller tables close to the windows. It had started to snow and the ground outside was already covered with a thin, white layer. Across from him Mario was digging cheerfully into his plate of pasta, seemingly unaffected by their teammates’ words, but Marco needed to make sure. 

“Kevin is a dick.” 

Mario made a noise somewhere between a _duh_ and a scoff, not glancing up from his food. 

Marco tried again. “No, not just generally, I mean- what he said just now. And Mats, too.“ 

Finally Mario looked at him, swallowing down a bite of his pasta. He seemed bemused. “Okay? You do realize they’ve been calling me _Pummelfee_ literally since the day I joined the team, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Marco muttered, poking at his own food a bit harder than necessary. “I know.” 

He did know, was the thing. Mario’s figure and the moniker the team had bestowed onto him because of it were a running joke in the dressing room. That didn’t mean Marco had to like it. Mario never showed any sign that their teammates’ teasing had any effect on him, but Marco wondered sometimes, whether he was as blasé about the whole thing as he pretended to be. It wasn’t just the team, after all. The press more than once had made pointed remarks about Mario’s appearance and his weight in particular. 

It was a ridiculous debate. Anyone who saw Mario with his shirt off could see he was as physically fit as any of the other guys. It wasn’t Mario’s fault that he was built like a damn Boticelli painting, all round cheeks and soft curves, where most of the male species didn’t really have them. Marco, who pretty much adored his best friend’s physical appearance and wouldn’t change a single thing about Mario, really wished that Kevin and Mats would keep their damn mouths shut. He didn’t know how to assure Mario with half of their team across the room though and settled for changing the subject instead. 

“We’re leaving for the Christmas Fair after tactical.” 

Mario frowned a little. “Who’s we?” 

“Kevin and some of the other guys. Me. You.” 

“Marco,” Mario sighed and Marco interrupted him before he could continue, pointing his fork at him. 

“You promised.” 

“There were some extenuating circumstances at the time,” Mario hissed, glancing around. 

Marco smirked. He’d laid Mario out on the bed a few days ago and fingered him until he was begging for Marco to fuck him, promising anything in return. “It still counts. You’re going.” 

“I don’t even like Christmas Fairs,” Mario whined. “And we’ll be mobbed within minutes, once someone recognizes us.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let the teenage girls corner you this time,” Marco promised, unable to keep the smirk off his face at the memory. “And _I_ like Christmas Fairs, they’re awesome. Glühwein, waffles, carousels. What’s not to like?”

“Ugh, I forgot about the Glühwein. Great, we’ll be scraping Kevin off the pavement,” Mario said with an eye-roll.

“We’ll ditch them, if they get too annoying. Just the two of us.” 

Marco knew it was the wrong thing to say when Mario’s expression became apprehensive and his stomach sank. This was the crux of the matter, even if Mario didn’t like to admit it. Ever since they had started sleeping together, his best friend had become hesitant about going out in public with Marco, like someone would be able to spot that their relationship wasn’t platonic anymore simply by looking at them. Marco usually avoided the discussion by inviting some of their friends along, but it stung sometimes, how scared Mario was of being seen with him. Something must have shown on his face, because Mario looked uneasy, glancing down at his plate before meeting Marco’s eyes again. 

“Fine,” he said and Marco could hear the forced cheer in his best friend’s voice. “But if you leave me alone with a drunken Kevin, you can kiss your Christmas gift goodbye, Reus.” 

*

The sun had already set by the time their little group reached the Dortmund Christmas Fair and the fairy lights attached to the stalls and trees cast the entire market area in a warm glow. Marco took a deep breath to suck in the smell of cider, roasted chestnuts and pine on the cold winter air, reveling in the scents that were so typical for this time of the year. He hadn’t exaggerated in his conversation with Mario; he really loved Christmas Fairs and everything that came with them, even the crowds of people and screaming kids begging their parents for another go on the carousels. 

Mats looked as if he felt the same way, rubbing his gloved hands together gleefully and glancing around in excitement. “Where to first?” 

“Glühwein,” Kevin and Nuri said as one. Next to Marco, Mario snorted. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath and Marco elbowed him gently in reprimand. “Come on, live a little. It tastes good and if nothing else, it’ll warm you up.” 

Mario, who despite his thick coat, scarf, gloves and beanie, had his shoulders hunched against the slight flurry of snowflakes that were drifting through the evening air, allowed Marco to tug him along after their teammates. They made their way across the square slowly, mindful of not drawing too much attention to themselves as they melted into the crowd. Marco latched onto Mario’s sleeve, just to make sure they didn’t get separated by the press of people around them. And if he shifted his position a little to walk closer to his friend and shield him from some of the wind, no one had to know about it. 

Marco was so focused on navigating the crowd that they almost walked right by Kevin and the others, who had come to a stop ahead and were apparently arguing about whether to take a left or right. 

“I’m telling you, I was here three nights ago and it’s that way!” Nuri said as Marco and Mario caught up to their friends. 

“Bullshit, they always put them near the washrooms and those are on the left side of the square. Why are you even trying to argue with me, I was born in this town-” 

“Kevin, I swear to God-“ 

“Children,” Mats interrupted. “How about we circle around, that way we can have a look at everything and find the Glühwein.” 

Kevin gave a derisive snort. “I’m not here for the gingerbread hearts, and I think we’ve all seen a Christmas Fair before.” 

“I like gingerbread hearts,” Mario said and Kevin rolled his eyes. “You _would_ , Götze. Bet you have a nice little collection from all your female admirers by now.” 

“Nope,” Mario replied curtly. “Never got one.”

“Aw.” Mats grinned and reached over to tousle Mario’s hair. “I’ll totally buy you one, Mar, which one would you prefer? The one that says Schatzl or the one with the candy flowers?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Mario grumbled as Mats and Nuri cackled. “It doesn’t count buying it for friends. That’s almost as bad a buying one for yourself. It has to come from someone who loves you.”

“Are you saying I don’t love you?” Mats asked. “I’m offended by that.” 

Marco snorted and Mario sighed as if they were all incredibly tiring, but was spared an answer, as Ilkay’s shout drew them across the square to the elusive Glühwein stall. By the time they reached the table, Kevin and Nuri had already bought a round for everyone and Marco pushed one cup towards Mario, who wrapped his fingers around it in an obvious attempt to get them warmed up. He raised an eyebrow and eyed the cup in his hands with appreciation after taking a sip. “This isn’t half-bad.” 

“Aw, our Pummelfee is coming into the fold,” Kevin crowed, draining his own cup so fast that just watching made Marco’s stomach twitch uncomfortably. 

Mario flipped him off and Marco bit down hard on his own tongue, reminding himself that no matter how he felt about it, Mario seldom appreciated Marco fighting his battles for him. If Mario wanted his teammates to get away with their teasing, he wouldn’t interfere. Much. Because when Ilkay took off towards one of the food stalls, Marco was quick to join him, an idea swiftly taking hold in his mind. 

Mario’s eyes grew wide when Marco plopped down the paper plates full of fries and sausages in front of him, shooting him a suspicious glance when Marco muttered something about not knowing what Mario would want. It was a rather clumsy lie, Marco probably could have listed Mario’s favorite foods in alphabetical order if he was called upon to do just that, but his best friend didn’t press him on the matter, popping one of the fries into his mouth instead and closing his eyes as he groaned in appreciation. 

Mario’s cheeks were flushed from the cold air and the alcohol and Marco couldn’t take his eyes off of him, barely keeping himself from reaching out and tugging one of the strands of hair peeking out from Mario’s beanie back underneath the black wool. He hastily shoved some of the sausage and fries into his mouth to cover for his blatant staring and hoped to hell the other guys hadn’t noticed anything. If the level of noise coming from that side of the table was any gauge, they hadn’t. For once, Marco was glad to be friends with a bunch of egomaniacs. 

Since his first attempt at feeding Mario had gone over so well, Marco kept at it as the evening progressed, justifying it with the positive effect a full stomach would have on his best friend as he continued to consume more of the Glühwein than was probably good for him. At least the food would counteract some of the alcohol and keep Mario from actually being drunk, instead of slightly tipsy. Fortunately the Glühwein made Mario less observant instead of paranoid - which was usually what happened to Marco once he drank too much – and he ate what Marco put in front of him without fuss, be it Crèpes, pretzels or another plate of fries. 

It was shortly after Mario had polished off a stick full of cotton candy (with some help from Marco, when he hadn’t been too preoccupied with the way Mario would lick the sticky, sugared tendrils from his fingers) that Mats slammed his cup down on the table and proclaimed: “Let’s ride the carousel!”

“That,” Kevin said and he was only slurring his words a little bit, Marco was impressed. “Is the best idea you’ve ever had.” He grabbed Nuri’s elbow and towed him off into the entirely wrong direction, Mario squinting after them in confusion. “Why is he going towards the ice rink?” 

“Because he’s a dumbass,” Mats said impatiently. “Let’s go, kids.” 

Marco distinctly felt that having a group of semi-famous and not entirely sober grown men ride the small carousel that had been set up a few hundred feet away was a bad idea. They had been lucky not to have been recognized yet, the fact that half of their group was wrapped up in scarves and hats had probably helped with that. 

Nevertheless, if anyone took a picture of one of them, it would be all over the internet tomorrow and if Kloppo saw them drunkenly ride a children’s merry-go-round two days before a game, he would actually kill them. Then dig them up and kill them again, that was how mad he would be. Never mind the press. Marco was extremely aware of all of these facts. So he didn’t quite understand how he found himself squished into one of the small fire trucks on the carousel, knees nearly coming up to his ears as Mario rang the tiny bell attached to the truck incessantly, cackling like a deranged lunatic as they went around and around. In retrospect, Marco should have probably eaten some of the food he’d pushed on Mario, because there was the teensiest possibility that he was less sober than he thought. 

In front of them, Ilkay, who was perched on one of the horses, turned to wave at them with his drawn smartphone and was the idiot actually filming this? Marco groaned out loud and next to him Mario stopped ringing the bell, bumping his shoulder into Marco’s. “What’s wrong?” he half-yelled over the drunken laughter of their friends and the tinkling music of the carousel. Marco tried to indicate Ilkay and his phone, but Mario only scrunched up his nose in confusion and looking at him instead of their surroundings for too long made Marco dizzy, so he just shook his head. 

Marco had never been gladder that rides at Fairs were usually a huge rip-off when the carousel slowed only minutes later, even as his friends loudly voiced their disappointment. For a moment he just sat, not entirely trusting his legs and when he looked up, Mario had already slipped out of the truck, coming around to give Marco a hand. They stumbled off the platform with their arms around each other and Marco wasn’t sure, whether he was holding onto Mario, or if it was the other way around. 

“Fuck, that was fun,” Mario said breathlessly into his ear and Marco snorted a laugh. It was just like his best friend to be reluctant to come here and then end up enjoying himself more than Marco had. “Told you.” 

“Fine, you were right. I shall forever adhere to your superior opinion from now on,” Mario said and the grin he gave Marco made his stomach flip. Mario with his cheeks flushed and eyes still sparkling with laughter looked good enough to eat and Marco dragged his eyes away forcefully, not willing to give into his libido’s eager suggestions what one might do to make him flush even more. 

His gaze fell onto a group of teenagers, who were in line for what undoubtedly would also be a drunken carousel ride, but that wasn’t what drew Marco’s attention. One of the girls in the group was hectically talking at her friends and pointing at where Kevin and the others were only slowly making their way down from the carousel platform. Oh _shit_. They’d been made. 

Without thinking, Marco grabbed onto Mario’s hand and started tugging him away from the carousel, lowering his own head as they walked. Mario resisted for a moment and then let himself be pulled, for which Marco was grateful. His best friend might be shorter than him, but his upper body strength was no joke and Marco wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to make him move, if Mario was stubborn enough to dig his heels in. 

“Marco, what-” Mario began and Marco threw a glance over his shoulder to see that their friends had been cornered, quickly altering his course to drag Mario behind one of the Christmas trees that had been erected around the square. Peering from beneath the foliage, he saw that Mats and Nuri were already posing for pictures and sighed, relief and amusement warring in his chest as he watched their friends completely blowing their cover. Mario had finally caught on and ducked underneath Marco’s arm to get a look at the small crowd slowly gathering around the cluster of players. 

“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” he muttered and Marco valiantly restrained himself from reacting to that in any way. He tugged on Mario’s sleeve. “Come on. They won’t be distracted for long.”

“Are you suggesting we abandon our friends?” Mario asked. “Because if so, lead the way.” 

The two of them slunk around one of the stands and started to quickly walk away from the carousel and the commotion that had started to take place around it. Next to him, Mario didn’t seem to be able quit chortling into his scarf, whether at the absurdity of the situation in general or as a side-effect of his lingering tipsiness, Marco couldn’t tell. He only knew it was strangely infectious and by the time they had reached the quieter parts of the fair, where most of the crafts stalls sold their stuff, both of them were stifling their laughter as to not attract attention to themselves. 

They found a bench beneath some trees that was mostly snow-free and Mario was already heading in that direction, when Marco spotted a lone waffle stand and suddenly felt ravenous. “Hold on,” he told Mario and jogged over to return a few minutes later with a stack of waffles held precariously on a paper plate and napkins. Their bench was a little off to the side and one of the street lamps had gone out, which almost made it feel secluded as they watched the commotion of the Christmas Fair from afar. 

“You might have had a point,” Mario said suddenly and Marco glanced at him in confusion, as his friend clarified. “About Christmas Fairs not being all that bad.” 

Marco smiled. For once Mario seemed to have left his apprehension about the two of them out in public together and Marco was absurdly glad for everything right then, even Mats and his stupid carousel-riding-ideas. 

“Good,” he said softly. Mario’s eyes were bright as he looked at him and Marco felt the insane urge to kiss him, right then and there and damn the consequences. Fuck. He had to pull himself together.

“Waffle?” he offered in an attempt to break the tension and Mario groaned, which really did nothing to help direct Marco’s thoughts in a direction that didn’t involve his best friend naked. “God, no. You’ll have to roll me home as it is.” 

Marco frowned at that. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a waffle, you love those. They’re not even that big, look.” 

Mario batted Marco’s hand and the napkin-wrapped waffle in it away, giving Marco a look that stated he was questioning his mental faculties. “What is _with_ you and food tonight?” 

“What? Nothing,” Marco said entirely too quickly, cursing himself as Mario’s eyebrows drew together in a suspicious frown. 

“Nothing my ass, you’ve been acting weird all night. You actually slapped Nuri when he tried to take one of my fries.” 

“It’s nothing, alright, just forget about it, look, it’s starting to snow again-“ Marco desperately tried to steer away from the topic, but Mario was having none of it, continuing his musing as if Marco hadn’t spoken at all. 

“And all that random shit that you bought, you don’t even _like_ cotton candy, I swear it’s like you’re trying to fatten me up or something.” 

Marco became very, very still and Mario drew in a startled breath. “Oh my God.”

Marco winced, opening his eyes a little. Mario was staring at him like he’d never seen Marco before. “You _are_ , aren’t you?” 

“I- no? Well, yes, a little. Maybe,” Marco admitted, his face flushing. “I just don’t want you to feel like you need to watch what you eat.” 

“I do need to watch what I eat,” Mario said, looking at Marco like he was an idiot. “I play football for a living.” 

“I know that,” Marco muttered, trying to disappear into his scarf. Jesus, he did not want to have this conversation. “Doesn’t mean that you need to lose weight or whatever other stupid ideas Kevin and Mats put in your head.” 

“I never listen to anything Kevin says ever, that’s just one of my policies,” Mario said lightly, still looking at Marco like he was trying to puzzle something out. “Why do you care so much?” 

Fuck, he really wasn’t going to leave well enough alone. Marco tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t be too incriminating. “I just- I like the way you look, ok? No need to change anything.” 

It was as neutral a statement as Marco could make it, but Mario still stared at him in astonishment, comprehension slowly dawning on his face as he took in Marco’s embarrassment. “You mean you like the fact that I’m chubby.” 

“You’re not-“ 

“Not rail-thin, chunky, whatever.” Mario waved one of his hands in irritation. There was something gleeful in his expression, as he looked at Marco. “But that’s what you’re saying. You like my curves.”

“Shut up,” Marco muttered, feeling his face burn and knowing that Mario could see it, too. 

“Oh my God, you totally do,” Mario said, sounding unbearably delighted. Marco wanted to punch him and maybe also make out with him a little. It was rather confusing. 

He settled for repeating himself. “Shut _up_.” 

“Nope,” his best friend said cheerfully and Marco secretly took back all the good things he’d ever voiced about Mario’s character. “I don’t think I will. Anything else you want to tell me while you’re at it?” 

Marco could hear the laughter in his voice and briefly wondered, whether he could make strangling him look like an accident. Then, a thought occurred to him and he turned to meet Mario’s gaze, who still looked way too amused for Marco’s liking. Something had to be done about that. 

“There is, actually.”

“Really?” Mario looked intrigued and also a little apprehensive. Marco smirked. 

“Really. Your socks.” 

“My socks,” Mario repeated, narrowing his eyes like he wasn’t sure whether Marco was making fun of him. 

Marco shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I like them.” 

“Oh?” 

“Hmh,” Marco hummed, keeping the inflection of his words casual. “I kind of want to bend you over my kitchen table and fuck you while you’re wearing nothing but those and your cleats.” 

Mario actually choked and Marco congratulated himself on a job well done, even as he pounded his best friend’s back. Once Mario got enough air into his lungs to form words, he grabbed onto the front of Marco’s jacket and pulled him up, expression determined. “We’re getting out of here.” 

“Right now?” Marco let himself be pulled along, amused by Mario’s sudden resolve.

“Yes. I sure hope you scrubbed that kitchen table as well as your floor,” Mario said matter-of-factly and Marco’s dick actually _twitched_ ; his mouth dry all of a sudden. “Seriously?” 

Mario glanced back over his shoulder and smirked. “Seriously. I’ll even let you drive.” 

*  
It was probably the fastest Marco had ever driven in his life and for once Mario didn’t admonish him for speeding, chewing his bottom lip and gazing out the window after Marco had taken his hand off his thigh with an almost desperate plea not to distract him. Getting them home safely with nothing but the image of Mario and his damned socks in mind was difficult enough; Marco didn’t want to take unnecessary risks by factoring Mario’s fingers near his crotch into the equation. 

They stumbled into Marco’s flat and nearly tripped right in the hallway, Mario having gotten impatient and pressing up behind Marco as he tried to get the key in the lock. Once the door slammed shut, Marco had Mario up and against it in a flash second, already tearing at his clothes and swearing in frustration at the many layers and zippers in his way. 

“Jesus, why are you wearing so many clothes?” he cursed, plucking Mario’s beanie off his head. Not even the ridiculous way his best friend’s hair was sticking up in every direction could distract him from the fact that his cock was nearly popping the button on his own jeans and Marco groaned as he reached down to unbuckle his belt and adjusted himself, just to get some relief. 

Mario, who had finally managed to peel himself out of his coat, used the occasion to slip his hand into the front of Marco’s briefs, which would have been extremely enjoyable, had his fingers not been fucking _freezing_. Marco cried out and grabbed onto Mario’s wrist, practically wrenching his hand away as he felt his balls contract painfully and draw up to his body. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he yelped and Jesus, he could _feel_ his erection wilting, goose bumps breaking out all over his skin, even though Mario’s icy fingers weren’t touching him anymore. 

“Shit, sorry,” Mario swore, trying to reach out and touch Marco again, who jerked away. “Oh come on, Marco, it wasn’t on purpose-“ 

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” Marco grated between clenched teeth, maybe a tad more dramatically than the situation called for, but he thought it was justified. Jesus, his balls felt like they were _shriveling_. He glanced at Mario, who was trying and failing to keep a serious expression and glowered at him. 

“I swear to God, Götze, if you dare laugh right now, you’re never getting laid again.” 

“I’m not,” Mario said, even as he was biting his lip to keep from doing exactly that, the fucking liar. Marco would have punched him, had he not needed one of his hands to prop himself against the wall and the other shoved down his briefs to get some modicum of warmth against his cock. 

“Oh God, I hate you,” he groaned, bending over to alleviate the odd painfulness of a rapidly diminishing erection. “I really, really do.” 

“I know,” Mario said soothingly and this time Marco didn’t try and push him away when he slid one arm around him. “C’mon, you should sit down.” 

He led Marco into the living room and pushed him down onto the couch, shucking his boots and scarf as he went. Marco - who still had one hand down his own pants, because there was no damn dignity when it came to freezer burn on your fucking genitals - glared at him. 

“Oh relax, I’ll pick them up later,” Mario said, now only wearing his jeans and a thick dark blue sweater that had probably been Marco’s at some point. He sank to his knees in front of Marco and gently pulled his hand away from his lap, his fingers still icy against Marco’s wrist. 

“May I?” he said and despite the polite inquiry, there was amusement lurking in his eyes, which made Marco narrow his own at him in return. 

“As long as you know that if you touch it again, I’ll probably kick you in the face.” 

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Mario said drily, even as he carefully pulled fabric out of the way to free Marco’s cock. He tilted his head a little, inspecting Marco with a scrutiny that would have made him blush any other time. “It doesn’t look that bad.” 

“You killed it,” Marco said darkly and Mario snorted a laugh, stifling it quickly when he saw Marco’s expression. “Sorry, sorry. Let me make it up to you.” 

Before Marco could utter a word of protest or gotten out the reach of Mario’s icicle paws, his best friend lowered his head into Marco’s lap and took his flaccid cock into his mouth, the wet heat so sudden that Marco actually gasped, hand flying up to tangle in Mario’s hair. Mario hummed in encouragement as he sucked Marco in deeper, still not moving his hands from where they rested on Marco’s thankfully covered thighs. 

It was all Marco could do not to buck his hips, because despite the unfriendly interlude, his cock was definitely still up for the challenge, especially when he looked down to see Mario bob his head in his lap, occasionally glancing up at Marco from beneath his lashes as he sucked his cock. His erection returned as Mario used all of his not inconsiderable skill on him, tongue swirling just below the head of Marco’s cock, tracing the most sensitive spots with ease as he hollowed his cheeks. All in all it took less than two minutes to return Marco to full hardness and Mario pulled off with a slick sound once he’d accomplished that, resting his chin in Marco’s lap as he gazed up at him. 

Marco hissed in disappointment as he slipped out of Mario’s mouth. “Why did you stop?” he groaned, the fingers still buried in Mario’s tangled, messy hair twitching with the effort of keeping from simply pulling him back down. 

Mario smiled sweetly. “I thought you wanted to fuck me in nothing but my cleats and socks.” 

Marco’s brain short-circuited for a moment, he’d honestly forgotten their original intent over the whole debacle. “ _Fuck_ , I do,” he ground out and hated the way his voice cracked. 

Mario simply smiled at him again and pushed up from his knees using his hands on Marco’s thighs as leverage. “Be right back.” 

As much as Marco hated waiting, it gave him the opportunity to shrug out of his outer layers, leaving nothing but his undone jeans and briefs. He wisely kept from touching himself, because even with the brief respite from Mario’s mouth, he was damn close to the edge already. He could hear Mario opening drawers in the bedroom and ran a hand through his hair restlessly, desperately trying not to imagine the way his best friend would bend over to pull on his shoes and socks. Nothing _but_ the shoes and socks. Oh fuck. Marco might not have thought this through. 

“Is you hand still freezing?” he called out, as he used his own to squeeze the base of his cock, trying to stave off some of his arousal. “Because that could be useful, if we don’t want this to be over in about three seconds.” 

“Not sure,” Mario replied, sounding distracted. “Does this need to be color-coordinated for you to work? Because I’m having some difficulties in that area.” Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just…get in here, would you? If I think about this much longer, you’ll have to wait another fifteen minutes, before anything is going to happen again.” 

“Jeez, impatient much?” Mario said from the doorway and Marco jerked his head up so fast he could feel the muscles in the back of his neck protesting. It didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered right then. Mario was standing in the doorway to the living room and as promised, he was wearing his knee socks and cleats, but he’d gone and added another article of clothing and Marco could only stare as he came around the couch slowly, the bright yellow hem of Marco’s jersey barely covering the curve of his ass.

Marco was pretty sure his mouth was actually hanging open and he hurried to close it, even as Mario fidgeted a little under his gaze, tugging on the collar of Marco’s jersey. “I- is this too much? I wasn’t sure whether it would ruin it, but it was in your closet, so I just…” he trailed off, expression becoming even more uncertain. “It does, doesn’t it? Fuck, ok, let me just-“ 

“Sunny,” Marco interrupted him and his voice was so hoarse he barely recognized it. “Just shut up and come here.” 

Mario’s relief was clear on his face as he sidled closer, until Marco could reach out, sliding his hands underneath his own jersey to palm Mario’s bare ass, his breath hitching as he took in the sight in front of him. The fucking socks accentuated the curve of Mario’s calves and Marco wasn’t sure why he was so fucking turned on by that but he _was_ , his cock twitching desperately at the combination of the socks and Mario’s naked thighs, the way his hard cock peeked from the hem of the jersey. 

“The kitchen?” Mario said breathlessly as Marco leaned in to nuzzle against his stomach, lifting the jersey to get at naked skin underneath. “The- your table- didn’t you want-“ 

“Fuck that,” Marco said roughly, getting up and dragging Mario to one of the arms of the couch. “This will do.”

He slid his palm against Mario’s back and groaned when the hem of the jersey slid up the curve of his ass as he bent over to brace himself against the seat of the couch. Marco’s fingers trailed up between Mario’s thighs, cupping his balls briefly, before slipping in between his cheeks and he sucked in a startled breath at what he found there. 

Mario twisted to glance at him from over his shoulder, his head dropping again when Marco pushed two of his fingers inside, the way eased by the lube Mario must have slicked himself with while he was in Marco’s bedroom. “I thought- this might be- fuck, easier,” his best friend panted and Marco twisted his fingers, easily seeking out Mario’s prostate and driving him up to his toes, drawing a harsh cry from his throat. He loved doing this, had since the first time he’d gotten his hands on Mario in this manner. 

His best friend was always so collected and quiet, even during sex he’d early on tried to hold onto that with a stubbornness that had frightened Marco. Mario always had seemed to hold himself back, like he was afraid of Marco’s reaction somehow. It hadn’t been until Marco had fucked him for the first time that his manner of censoring himself fell apart and Marco hadn’t been able to get enough of it ever since. He loved every second of it, the way Mario’s quiet breaths and sighs would grow into whimpers and begging when Marco touched him, all of his reserve falling away and giving way to something that Marco could only call reverence. 

This time was no exception. Mario was already whining softly as Marco crooked his fingers inside him again, making him jerk and gasp in surprise. “Marco, please,” he groaned and Marco hummed, using his free hand to slide up to his chest and tweak his nipple, even as he continued to fuck him with his fingers. “Marco, if you don’t stop now, I’m going to-“ Mario gasped as Marco once again drove the tips of his fingers into his prostate, cutting him off effectively. 

He leaned over the curve of his best friend’s body, nuzzling against the skin below his ear. “I know, Sunny. Just let it happen, I’ll take care of you.” 

It took no more than another twist of his fingers and then Mario was _whimpering_ , clenching around Marco as he came with a buck of his hips. Marco wrapped both arms around him and drew him back against his chest, kissing the sweat-slicked curve of his neck and relishing the way Mario slumped into him, like his strings had been cut. With a groan he pulled down his own briefs and jeans, allowing his cock to slide up between Mario’s thighs, nudging against his ass. 

Mario groaned when Marco eased him down against the arm of the coach again, covering the back of his neck and shoulders in kisses as he did so. He hooked one hand underneath Mario’s thigh and pushed until his knee was resting on the arm of the couch as well, opening him up for Marco. Mario didn’t resist, resting his forehead on his folded palms as Marco dug into his jeans pocket for the condom. 

Marco stroked a hand down Mario’s back as he sank into him, the yellow fabric of the jersey silky beneath his fingertips. His eyes caught on the letters of his own name, the way they stretched across Mario’s shoulder blades almost like a mark. It made him thrust harder than he intended to and Mario whimpered again, this time in discomfort. Marco immediately eased his movement, drawing back and stroking Mario’s hips in silent apology. He loved having Mario like this, all fucked out and pleasured and open after he’d already come, but he couldn’t go hard, had to keep his thrusts slow and easy as to not overwhelm him. It hardly mattered anyway. The slow slide into him, unhurried and measured perfectly with the soft hitching breaths that escaped Mario’s throat, was more than sufficient to make Marco lose his head. 

When they did it like this his orgasm always crept up on him, his body lulled by the steady pace that indicated they could do this forever. As he felt himself approach the end faster than he would have liked, Marco slid his hand around to take Mario in hand, timed his thrusts with the slow strokes on his cock. 

“Marco, no,” Mario whimpered, squirming his hips like he was trying to escape. “I can’t, please, not so soon-“ 

“Yes, you can,” Marco murmured against his ear, kissing the slick skin right beneath. “I know you can.”

He rubbed his thumb over the tip of Mario’s cock and as he shifted his hips to thrust back into him at the same time, Mario actually sobbed, bucking underneath him. Marco knew it wouldn’t take long now. “It’s okay,” he soothed, muttering the words right into the fine, damp hair against Mario’s temple as he writhed underneath him. “You’re okay, Sunny, you’re fine. Just come for me.” 

And as Mario clenched around him for a second time that night, Marco felt his own orgasm catch up to him, burying him beneath a bright hot wave of pleasure as he shuddered against his best friend’s back. 

*

Marco tried to convince Mario to stay for the night, knowing it was no use, but not able to stop himself anyway. It would be their last night together for a while, the winter break and respective time with their families looming ahead and for the first time as long as he could remember, Marco wasn’t looking forward to spending time at his parents’ place with his sisters for Christmas. Mario would be gone from Dortmund for the entire break, since his family always celebrated with his grandparents in Bavaria.

It sounded silly even in his head, but Marco had no idea how he would deal for nearly three weeks without Mario. Since this thing had started, they had almost constantly been together and even before that, Marco had just gotten accustomed to having Mario around. He had no inclination to relive the horrible days when they’d been playing for different clubs, especially since his relationship with his best friend now included perks that didn’t relay well over text messages and Skype. 

Watching Mario scramble around his living room and hallway on a mad scavenger hunt for his clothes, Marco made a last attempt to sway him. “We don’t have training tomorrow morning. And your car is still at the grounds, they won’t let you in now.” 

“They would actually, but I’m not going. I’ll just take a cab home,” Mario said, glancing around distractedly. “Have you seen my sweater?” 

Marco retrieved it from underneath one of the cushions and tossed it over. “I’m pretty sure this is _my_ sweater. And you could stay and take a cab home in the morning.” 

Mario frowned at the garment in his hands. “Seriously? Huh.” Pulling it over his head, his voice was muffled for a moment. “I can’t though, I still need to pack. You know I’m going straight to my grandparents’ after the game.” 

Marco nearly sighed, he did know. Their last game was an away against Hoffenheim and since they would be travelling that far south, Mario wouldn’t be coming back to Dortmund with the team. Which also meant they would be saying their goodbyes a whole day early, at least the ones that weren’t fit to be displayed in public. Across the room Mario had finally won his struggle with the sweater and was pulling on his boots, looking almost ready to leave.

It made Marco panic all of a sudden, the thought of Mario walking out his front door and not returning until fucking New Year’s had passed, probably even longer. He was up and across the room before he realized what his intent actually was, Mario glancing up at him in surprise as Marco drew near. “Did you see my…” Mario trailed off as he took in Marco’s expression. “Hey. What’s the matter?” 

Marco just shook his head and took Mario’s face into his hands, unable to voice what was eating at him without sounding like a teenager with a serious penchant for hysterics. They were talking about three weeks, not months after all. “Just…let me drive you home tonight? I’ll even promise not to speed.” 

“You’ll never keep that one in a million years,” Mario said drily, but his eyes were soft and when Marco tilted his chin up to kiss him he went easily, sliding his hands up to rest on Marco’s chest. Marco thought he could still taste some of the Glühwein on him and hummed in appreciation, biting down softly on his bottom lip. 

Mario groaned into the kiss, but pulled away, expression regretful. “I really need to go.”

“I know,” Marco said, leaning down to kiss him once more in spite of that. “C’mon. With me driving, you’ll even make it home before turning into a pumpkin, Princess.”

Mario rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t a princess then, dumbass, and you do realize that makes you one of the coachmen mice instead of the prince?”

“I always had a thing for the underdog,” Marco said with a smirk, following Mario into the hallway and pulling on his jacket as they went. “And besides, the coachman gets to drive all the sweet carriages. Take your pick, Sunny.” 

Mario gave the overflowing key rack a look and pulled a face. Marco knew his best friend didn’t get his fascination for cars or why Marco felt the need to have six of them, when one would be a lot more sensible. It was one of the few areas they probably never would see eye to eye. But for once Mario didn’t make a snide remark about CO2 emissions or fuel prices, snatching up the keys for the Aston Martin and throwing them to Marco. 

“Since you promised not to speed, you might as well do it in your fastest car,” he grinned and Marco suppressed a groan, following him down the stairs. How anyone ever thought Mario was innocent was beyond him, the man was a deviant. 

The drive to Mario’s house had never seemed so short, despite Marco keeping the car well below the speed limit the entire way there. It wasn’t even due to Mario’s challenge; he just didn’t want to shorten the already limited time they had left. His stomach dropped when he pulled onto the street where Mario’s parents lived, most of the houses already dark and their inhabitants asleep. Marco pulled up to the curb and turned the engine off quickly; there was no need to wake up the entire neighborhood. 

Mario made no attempt to get out of the car and when Marco turned to look at him, he was staring straight ahead, eyes unseeing as he seemed to mull something over. Marco was already opening his mouth to ask what the matter was, when Mario reached over to pull the key out of the ignition, the low lights on the console fading as he did. It was almost completely dark inside the car now. They were parked a good stretch down from the street lights and this was a residential area where there weren’t many of them to begin with. 

Marco could only faintly make out Mario’s face, his expression completely fading into the shadows. He nearly startled when Mario put his hand on the side of his neck, drawing Marco closer and leaning in to kiss him. Their position was extremely awkward, Marco trapped by the low-set steering wheel and Mario having to twist sideways to even be able to reach him. Sports cars, it seemed, weren’t generally laid out to let their occupants make out with one another comfortably.  
Marco didn’t care. He knew this would be the last time he’d be able to kiss Mario; they wouldn’t get a chance tomorrow with the entire team there. The mere fact that Mario was even kissing him outside of Marco’s flat made clear that he knew it, too. Marco tried to make the best of it, twisting his fingers into Mario’s hair and licking into his mouth until they were both breathless, resting their foreheads together. 

“I need to go,” Mario whispered and Marco nodded, kissing him one last time, short and almost chaste. Then he pulled away and settled back into his seat while Mario fumbled for the door handle, watching as his best friend slipped out of the car. After the door had slammed shut behind him, Marco sighed and slumped into his seat. 

“Three weeks, Reus,” he muttered to himself as he switched the engine back on. “You can survive three weeks.” 

*

When Marco pulled into his parents’ driveway two days later and spotted his sister’s car already parked next to their mother’s, the same unbidden thought flashed through his mind. He suppressed a sigh as he got out and retrieved his bags from the trunk. It wasn’t a nice thing to be thinking about one’s own sister, but he’d been hoping that he’d be the first to arrive, if only to avoid Melanie for a few more hours. 

Since Caro and him had broken up she’d been extremely frosty with Marco and he was damned if he knew why. Yes, she and Caro were friends and she’d even introduced the two of them, but it had been Caro who had dumped him after all, not the other way around. Marco wasn’t sure whether Mel had imagined them all living together in a big house someday or something equally ridiculous, but she’d been giving him the near silent treatment for months now. 

He could hear arguing when he let himself into the house and had to grin despite himself. It sounded like his parents were already at it again. “Thomas, this is no place to put the tree, it’s going to ruin the carpet!” 

“Well, if we put it over there we might as well unplug the TV, we won’t be able to see a damn-“ 

“Why do you need the TV in the first place, it’s Christmas! Your children and your grandson will be here, isn’t that enough entertainment?” 

“Knock-knock,” Marco interrupted from the doorway of the living room. His parents’ heads turned immediately and the smiles that broke out on their faces made Marco silently admonish himself for the gloom he’d felt at the prospect of coming here.

“Marco!” His mother rushed over and pulled him into a hug, planting a kiss on his cheek that made him smile. “We didn’t expect you this early, you must have gotten back late last night.” 

“Yeah, well. I was up, so I figured I might as well head over,” Marco said, not mentioning that his flat had felt kind of dreary in the wake of Mario’s departure. 

His dad chuckled and wrapped an arm around him. “You always were an early bird. Unlike your sisters.” 

“Where are they?” Marco asked. “Mel’s car is in the driveway.” 

“She left to do some shopping. Took my car,” his dad said. “Apparently all the gifts she intends to buy won’t fit in hers. If you ask me, she just wanted to drive the Porsche.” 

Marco smiled. The car for his dad had been one of the first things he’d bought with the paychecks from his club, that had been a dream of his ever since his father had taken him to the automobile museum when he’d been a kid. His dad was the only person who even came close to sharing Marco’s appreciation for beautiful cars. “As long as she doesn’t scratch it.” 

“I’ll have her head,” his dad replied seriously and Marco’s mom gave them an admonishing look. 

“Hush, the both of you. Marco, bring your stuff up to the guest room, I told your dad to make up the blue one. Yvy and Martin will need the big one for Niko.”

Marco nodded. “Are they coming today?” 

“They said they would, but probably not until the afternoon, you know how Yvy is about Niko’s naptime,” his mother said with a faint note of disapproval. Marco exchanged a quick look with his dad and decided not to press the matter. 

“I’ll just bring these upstairs then. What’s for lunch?” 

“Goulash and mashed potatoes, of course,” his mother replied and Marco felt a grin spreading on his face as he bent down to kiss her cheek. “You’re the best, Mama.” 

“Get out of here,” she laughed, turning back towards the Christmas tree that to Marco looked pretty lopsided. 

“We’re glad to have you, son,” his dad said, squeezing the back of his neck affectionately. “Now go before she decides to rope you into tree duty, too.” 

The blue guest room had indeed been made up and Marco dropped his bags onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed face-first, the exhaustion of yesterday catching up to him. They’d travelled to Hoffenheim and back and although they’d won, Marco hadn’t been able to get into the victory spirit along with his teammates, not with Mario leaving right after the game. He’d curled up on his seat and tried to sleep on the way back, but hadn’t managed to drop off, the tight hug Mario had pulled him into at their goodbye still fresh in his mind. 

Last night hadn’t been much better. Marco had tossed and turned in his bed that suddenly felt too big for him, which was of course preposterous. Mario barely slept over two nights of the week, if that. Marco was plenty accustomed to being on his own and he’d never seriously minded before. But now that Mario would be gone from Dortmund for more than a fortnight, his flat seemed empty, almost cold. He was glad he’d come to his parents’ house this early, at least not everything reminded him of Mario here. 

Marco rolled onto his back, pulling his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and frowning at the screen. Still nothing. Mario must have made it to his grandparents’ place last night, but he’d never messaged Marco, probably equally exhausted and ready to turn in by the time he did. Marco glanced at his watch. It was still fairly early, at least in Mario-time. His best friend was very likely still asleep and therefore entirely unable to message him. Calling him right now would undoubtedly only result in getting yelled at. Marco chewed his bottom lip and then sighed resignedly, opening a new text message.

 _did u arrive ok?_

There. He tossed the phone down next to himself on the comforter and closed his eyes. They flew open again only minutes later, when a soft chime alerted him to an incoming call. Marco glanced at the screen in disbelief before he accepted it. “Why are you up? Is there some time difference in between Dortmund and Bavaria I don’t know about?”

There was a long pause. “It’s ten in the morning.” Mario’s voice sounded hoarse, but it was still the best thing Marco had heard all day and he started to smile, couldn’t help it.

“And again I ask: Why are you up? I thought since you’re on vacation you’d sleep until noon.” 

“Some asshole sent me a text message and woke me,” Mario yawned, but he didn’t sound too disgruntled about it and the smile on Marco’s face only grew. 

“I’m surprised you even noticed. You usually sleep right through the alarm.” 

“Ugh, whatever,” Mario said. “If you only called to insult me, I’m going back to sleep.” 

“You called _me_ ,” Marco pointed out mildly. 

“And now I’m hanging up on you.” The call disconnected and Marco chuckled, opening another text message. 

_sorry for waking u. sweet dreams, sunny xxx_

His phone buzzed only seconds later. 

_liar. go to sleep, you sound tired._

Marco stared at the screen, wondering how the hell Mario had gotten that from the few words they’d exchanged. His best friend wasn’t wrong though and after a few moments Marco put his phone down, curling up on his side and pulling the comforter over himself. Sleep almost immediately came to him, not leaving him any time to contemplate how just hearing Mario’s voice had been enough to soothe the odd gnawing in the pit of his stomach, if only for a while. 

*

The next few days were a whirlwind of dinners, gift exchanges and all in all more time in close quarters with his family than Marco was comfortable with. It wasn’t that they weren’t happy to be together, but since his sisters as well as his parents had their stubborn streaks, clashes were unavoidable, especially around Christmas time. Marco dealt with the inevitable drama by employing the tactics he’d used since he was ten years old and had finally figured out that he could neither compete with Mel’s magniloquent diatribes nor Yvy’s firy temper during a fight: he stayed out of the fray and took Nico to go sledding or to build another snow fort in the garden, when it all got too much. 

As a means of not getting involved in his family’s squabbles it worked rather spectacularly and he’d even managed not to come to blows with Melanie yet, who perhaps in honor of the occasion had refrained from being too outwardly hostile with him. Even Christmas itself had gone over pretty well, which hadn’t always been the case since Marco had started playing football professionally. Unlike Mario, Marco had grown up in a thoroughly lower middle-class household and their way of celebrating usually reflected that. His sisters still worked low-paying jobs and the awkwardness of being able to pretty much buy anything he wanted for himself or any of the members of his family, had led to more than one row between them. 

Neither Melanie nor Yvonne wanted any part in extravagant gifts and even his parents had begged off after he’d bought them the house they currently owned, which was twice the size of the one Marco had grown up in. This year he’d stuck to the limits his mother had set him and blown most of his Christmas budget on the ridiculously expensive black diamond earrings he’d gotten for Mario, who had proven far more appreciative of his efforts. The selfie he’d gotten, with his gift already proudly displayed, was currently his phone wallpaper. 

Marco surreptitiously glanced around and when he found the living room empty, he drew his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, looking at said selfie and grinning. God, he missed Mario. They usually talked every night and Mario sent him a frankly worrying amount of pictures in between; the man had never met a pretzel or a snowflake he didn’t feel the need to preserve for posterity, or for Marco in this case.

It wasn’t the same as having him there though and Marco missed it desperately. It wasn’t the sex, or well, not entirely at least. He just missed being able to touch Mario, kiss him whenever he felt the urge to. If he’d known it would be this bad after only a week, he would have suggested the two of them go somewhere together for New Year’s. 

“I’m bored.” Nico’s voice nearly made Marco out of his skin and despite knowing without a doubt that Yvy would kill him, if he uttered any profanity near her three-year-old son, he barely bit back a curse. 

“Hey, Captain,” he said instead and lifted his arm so Nico could scramble into his lap. “How’s the castle going?” 

Nico’s brow furrowed. “Bo-ring,” he said with so much emphasis that Marco barely managed not to laugh. “Daddy says building it takes time but he’s been trying for _hours_.” 

Marco doubted that his brother-in-law would need quite that long to assemble a Playmobil set, but he only nodded solemnly at his nephew. “Want to go outside and see whether the ice on the pond is thick enough to skid?” 

“Noooo,” Nico muttered, drawing the words out in the way he had when he was angling for something in particular. From the way Nico was eying his phone, Marco had a pretty good idea what it was. Yvy and Martin were strict about not letting Nico play too much with their phones and the boy had already figured out that his uncle was far easier to win over than his parents or grandparents in that regard. 

Marco bit his lip to keep from smiling as Nico twisted to look at him with big pleading eyes. “Marco?” 

“Yes?” 

“Can I play with your phone, please? I haven’t played in soooo long.” If he tilted his head any further, Marco noted with amusement, he would probably topple off his lap. 

“Is that so?” 

“And Daddy’s taking forever building the castle. Can I play some until he’s done, please?” 

Marco sighed. He couldn’t really pretend he had any defenses when it came to the puppy eyes of his nephew. “Ten minutes, buddy. And not a word to your mom.” 

That would never work, Nico was a blabbermouth, but it didn’t hurt to try. His nephew was already bouncing up and down excitedly and Marco handed over the phone with the resignation of knowing that he was being thoroughly played by a three-year-old. It wasn’t until Nico said “Who’s that?” in a curious voice, that Marco remembered the damn background. 

He refrained from snatching the phone back, reminding himself that the picture itself was perfectly innocent, just Mario in what looked like a thick woolen sweater grinning dorkily into the camera, his head slightly tilted so the black ear studs were on full display. “That’s Mario,” he said and forced his voice to stay calm. “He’s my best friend.” 

“Like Tobi?” Nico asked, now peering more closely at the phone and Marco had to wrack his brains until he remembered that Tobi was a boy Nico went to kindergarten with, presumably his best friend. 

“Yeah, like Tobi for you.” 

“Is he nice?” Nico asked guilelessly and Marco had to smile all of a sudden. Mario and his paranoia had made him jumpy, too, but Nico was three for God’s sake. 

“He’s very nice. He plays football with me,” he explained and Nico looked awed, like pretty much any time someone brought up Marco’s profession. 

“I want Tobi and me to play football together when we’re big,” he said and Marco grinned. 

“Tobi and _I_ ,” he corrected gently, then added. “And I bet you will, if you keep training. Do you want to go practice your penalties?” 

“Yes!” Nico exclaimed, the phone immediately forgotten. “Can I wear my new boots?” Marco had given them to him for Christmas. 

When Marco nodded, Nico let out a whoop and took off at once, nearly colliding with Yvy, who was just entering the living room. 

“Whoa, slow down, tiger,” she laughed, but Nico scrambled past her. “Sorry, Mommy, Marco’s gonna practice penalties with me,” he yelled, already halfway up the stairs. 

Yvy raised an eyebrow at him and Marco shrugged, pocketing his phone. “He wants to.” 

“I’m sure. And you promised Mom to help her with the cake after she and Mel are back from their walk.” 

Marco didn’t manage to hide his wince and Yvy snorted. “That’s what I thought. You can’t avoid her forever, you know? Mom and Dad are already talking about locking the two of you in a room together.” 

God, this was why he’d always liked to keep out of the way when his sisters had their rows as teenagers. Yvy was almost spookily perceptive, when it suited her and Mel…well, Mel was another matter entirely. “I don’t even know what her problem is,” he muttered and Yvy rolled her eyes. 

“Well, you’re not gonna find out by not talking to her, will you?” she replied smartly. 

“It’s her who’s-“ 

“I don’t care,” Yvonne interrupted, grinning when he saw his glower. “Sorry, little brother, but I have a job, a husband and a toddler to juggle, your and Mel’s drama aren’t really that high on my list of priorities. Just talk to her, let her yell at you for whatever she thinks you’ve done. You know how she is, once she’s gotten a go at you, she’ll be much less likely to hold her grudge.” 

“How appealing,” Marco muttered. 

“You’ll live,” his sister said drily. She smiled when Nico barreled back into the room, holding his brand new footballs shoes in his hands. “Want me to help you put them on, tiger?” 

“No, Marco has to! You don’t know how to do it right, Mommy.” 

Yvonne held her hands up in surrender as Marco dug himself out of his chair and knelt to help Nico into his shoes. “Alright, I’ll leave you experts to it. But remind your uncle that there’s no need to practice free kicks in the garage, will you? I don’t think grandma would appreciate another smashed window.”

“That was _one_ time!” Marco exclaimed and Yvy laughed. “And we’ll never let you live it down. Have fun, boys.” 

*

Marco went up to his room right after dinner, avoiding Yvonne’s reproachful gaze. His oldest sister had been giving him pointed looks during the entire meal and Marco had studiously ignored them, a thing he’d had a lot of practice at. Yvy might be right about him having to talk to Mel eventually, but he’d told Mario that he would call him tonight, which gave him a convenient excuse to put it off for another day. 

Mario picked up after only two rings and Marco grinned, already feeling his irritation seep out of him at the sound of his best friend’s voice. “You sound frazzled, Sunny. What are you up to?”

“It’s mayhem here,” Mario groaned and Marco could just imagine him running a hand through his hair in distress. “The whole family arrived today. I swear I don’t even know half of these people claiming to be my cousins. The entire house is full of people; they’ve made me bunk with Felix and Fabian just to make room for everyone!”

Marco snorted at his indignant tone. “Well, some of us actually had to share rooms with their siblings while growing up. Count yourself lucky it’s only a few days.” “You would not say that, if you knew what Fabian’s like. It’s like living in a crack den,” Mario said darkly. Marco, thinking of the countless times he’d cleaned up after Mario, who thought the best place to store his clothes was the ground, pointedly stayed silent. 

“Oh, shut up,” Mario muttered and Marco laughed. “I didn’t say anything!”

“I could hear you thinking it,” Mario said and then sighed. There was something in the tone of his voice that made Marco sit up. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I just-“ Mario sighed again. “I think Felix and Fabian are mad at me.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. It’s…all of our relatives are here and all they ever want to talk about is me, it’s like my brothers aren’t even in the room most of the time. We haven’t seen most of them for a while and I mean- it just sucks.” 

Marco nodded; he’d encountered that particular phenomenon at the last big get-together his extended family had held. “It’s not your fault though. People get weird around you once you’re-”

“Famous?” Mario asked bitterly. “Tell me about it.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Marco repeated gently. 

“Yeah, well. Fabian might get that, but Felix is fourteen. All he sees is that no one is paying any attention to him when they really ought to.” 

“You should talk to him,” Marco said, ignoring the irony of using Yvonne’s advice on Mario. “Or take him out somewhere, just the two of you. _You_ give him attention.” 

There was a pause and then Mario laughed softly. “You know, you always make things sound so simple.” 

“Hm, yes, it’s a burden and a gift,” Marco said haughtily, grinning when Mario snorted a laugh on the other end of the line.

“I’m sure,” his best friend said wryly, then added, more softly. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime, Sunny.” 

“How’s Christmas going at the Reus household? Let me guess, your mom made goulash again and your sisters have sworn to take revenge against you for abusing your position as the favorite child.”

“Hm, close. I spent the day the day trying to teach Nico to kick the ball with the inside of his foot instead of the pike.” 

Mario laughed. “He’s three, Marco! Can he even do that without falling over?” 

“Hey, I’ll have you know he’s quite talented with the ball already! But no,” Marco admitted and they both snorted. “He’s amazing, Mario, you really need to meet him sometime.” 

“I’d like that,” Mario said softly. “You really love him, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. Spending even three hours with him will drain your energy completely and make you question your will to life, but-” Marco trailed off, and then smiled helplessly. “It’s worth it. I just hope my own turn out exactly like him.” 

There was a short pause and when Mario spoke, his voice sounded odd, almost flat. “Yeah. That- yeah. Hey listen, I think my dad is calling me, I need to go.”  
Thrown by the sudden mood swing, Marco sat up, frowning at his empty bedroom. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Mario said, still in that flat voice. “Yes, I’m fine. I really need to go though.” 

“Tomorrow, same time?” Marco asked and almost expected him to say no. But Mario just exhaled and muttered: “Sure. Night, Marco.”  
Marco stared at his phone after he’d disconnected the call, flummoxed by the turn of events. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what he’d said to cause that reaction from Mario. His best friend had almost sounded…defeated, which made no sense whatsoever. Marco tossed his phone away and rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. A glance at the clock revealed that it was not even nine yet, he usually talked to Mario a lot longer, right up until they both went to bed. Marco sighed and got up. There was nothing for it, he might as well get it over with and talk to Mel after all. At least it would take his mind of Mario and trying to figure out what he’d done to upset him. 

* 

Mel was curled up in an armchair next to her bed when Marco knocked on the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at him as she put a finger into the book she was holding in her lap. “Mom isn’t here.” 

“I can see that,” Marco said drily. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Did you? Funny, I could have sworn that you’ve done your utmost to avoid me for the last couple of weeks.” Her tone was icy, but Marco could see the curiosity his sister was trying to hide and knew he had an in. Closing the door behind him, Marco set down on the bed, facing Mel in her chair. 

“Look,” he started. “I know you’re mad that Caro and I broke up. But we wouldn’t have worked and she knew that as well as I did. Probably sooner, actually.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry if things are awkward for you now, because she’s your friend and I’m your brother. I never wanted that and I feel like an ass for putting you in that position. So I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Mel raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that it?” 

“I- yeah,” Marco said, floundering. His sister nodded curtly, already opening her book again. “Alright, then.” 

“Jesus, what the hell is your problem, Mel?” Marco snapped, his temper getting the better of him despite his best efforts. “I said I’m sorry and I meant it. I know this is awkward, but it’s not like Caro and I could have gone on dating just so you’re more comfortable. She wasn’t happy!” 

“You’re damn right she wasn’t happy!” Mel exploded and Marco reeled back at the force of her anger. “Don’t you dare rub that in my face, I fucking know she wasn’t happy, she was devastated! I should know, I was there to pick up the pieces afterwards. God, if anyone had ever asked me, whether my own brother could be such a lowlife scumbag I would have laughed in their face, but it’s obvious, even Mom has picked up on it!” 

Marco was starting to feel like he’d missed an important part of the conversation. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Oh, fuck off, Marco, I’m not going to play this game with you!” 

“What game?” Marco cried, now more confused than ever. “What the hell is even happening right now? Caro broke up with _me_ , why are you-“ 

“You fucking cheated on her!” 

Marco fell silent and stared at Mel, who had those spots of color high on her cheeks now, the ones she got when she was incredibly infuriated. “What?” he asked, trying his best to stay calm. 

“Oh, don’t even bother denying it. She told me how you would always cancel on her at the last minute with these stupid-ass excuses, like having to go buy a new closet with Mario or some shit. How you guys never spent time together anymore after you moved to Dortmund, because you were off somewhere with your new flame.” Mel shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “I didn’t want to believe her, but it’s so goddamn obvious now that you’re here.” 

Marco, who was still trying to wrap his head around what his sister had just dumped on him, glanced up in confusion and Mel snorted. “Oh, please. Even Mom noticed and she’s honestly the last person to pick up on these things. You’re always on the phone and fluttering around the house like a lovesick teenager. I haven’t seen you this way since Franzi dumped you in tenth grade. She must be quite something. I guess she’d have to be, for making cheating on Caro of all people worth it,” Mel added bitterly. 

Marco felt like someone had just pushed him through the goddamn rabbit hole and he was still falling, stomach swooping uncomfortably as the facts rearranged themselves before his eyes and started clicking into place to form a startling new reality and oh, how could he not have _seen_ it before. 

“I think I need to sit down,” he said, with a mouth that felt like cotton and he only vaguely registered that Mel had gotten up, peering at him with grudging concern. “You _are_ sitting down,” she said and Marco glanced around to find that he, indeed, was still sitting on the bed. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” Marco managed, barely keeping himself from laughing hysterically at the question. “I don’t think I am.” 

“Then what-“ 

“I didn’t cheat on Caro,” Marco interrupted and looked up at Mel finally, whose eyebrows drew together in disbelief as she stared at him. “I really, really didn’t. But I think-“ Marco licked lips that all of a sudden felt too dry. “I think I might be in love with Mario.” 

*

It took him almost an hour to recount the entire story to Mel, who had settled on the bed with her legs crossed and propped up against the pillows like an imperious queen being regaled by her courtiers. He started with the night of Robert’s birthday and went from there, leaving out nothing except the obvious X-rated escapades, which Mel rolled her eyes at. But she didn’t interrupt him once and she didn’t even blink at the fact that her brother, who had only dated women as far as she’d been aware, now claimed to be in love with his male best friend. Marco was grateful for that, he didn’t think he could have handled a discussion about his sexual identity right then.

The sheer relief at being able to tell someone was overwhelming. He hadn’t even realized how much it had cost him to keep their secret until he was able to share it with his sister, who, for all her dramatic tendencies would never utter a word to another living soul once he asked her not to. Yvonne was the more level-headed of the two and thus Marco had never fought with her as much when they were kids, but Mel was the one he had always trusted the most, even when they were at each other’s throats.

Once he finished, Mel frowned deeply, looking up from where she’d folded her fingers together in her lap. “I don’t really see the problem.” 

“What?” Marco exclaimed in disbelief. “Have you even been listening? I’m in love with Mario! Mario! My best friend!” 

“The best friend you’re sleeping with,” Mel pointed out calmly. “Which, let me tell you, doesn’t exactly hint at him not having any feelings for you.” 

Marco collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “He never-“ 

“Said anything? Well, neither did you.” 

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Marco argued hotly, feeling the flush on his face. “If I’d known-“ he broke off. The truth was, he had no idea what he would have done. He didn’t know what to do _now_. “We said it was just a thing between friends. It didn’t sound like he wanted more than that.” 

Mel snorted contemptuously. “Yeah, right. I don’t fuck my friends and you didn’t used to either, little brother. Talk to him. From what it sounds like, the two of you are in the same boat.” A wicked little grin crossed her face. “The loooove boat,” she sing-songed and Marco groaned, throwing an arm across his face. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t. And stop trying to change the topic. You need to talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”

“Because we all know I’m so good at that,” Marco bit out. “It’s not like my last girlfriend broke up with me over that or anything.” 

“Oh, boohoo, give me a fucking break,” Mel drawled. “Caro didn’t break up with you because of that, she broke up with you because she thought you were cheating on her with Mario. Well, she didn’t know the Mario part and you weren’t, but that’s beside the point.” She frowned a little. “God, your love life is messed up.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Mel didn’t say anything for a while and even though Marco knew what she was doing, waiting him out and provoking him into a response, he couldn’t keep himself from biting. “Look, assuming I even wanted to risk telling him, I don’t even know- how do you tell someone something like that?” 

Mel rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. She cleared her throat, glancing down at the mattress before looking up at Marco again, her eyes now heavy-lidded. “Hey, baby,” she said, pitching her voice an octave lower than usual. “I need to tell you- you’re my lovemuffin. My cuddlebunny. My one and only-“ 

Marco muffled the rest of whatever atrocities she’d thought up with the pillow he pressed on her face and Mel squealed, kicking at him as they wrestled on the bed like they were kids again and fighting over the remote control. Ten minutes later, one of the pillows had nearly come out of its case and Marco’s hair felt was completely disheveled, his older sister knowing exactly where his weak spots were and how to use them to her advantage. Next to him, Mel was still fighting off the giggles that had overcome her in the middle of their pillow fight and Marco couldn’t help but feel lighter, too, if not by much. 

“But seriously,” she said suddenly, just resuming the conversation, as if the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. “You need to tell him. If you can’t outright say it, find some way to make him understand. He’s your best friend, you can’t tell me you don’t have _any_ idea how to do that.” 

Marco was about to tell her how much she was overestimating his abilities in that regard, when a thought popped into his head. He could tell Mel was looking at him, but kept staring at the ceiling, an idea slowly forming in his mind. 

Mel nudged him with her elbow. “You know how you’re gonna do it, don’t you?” 

“Maybe,” Marco admitted and she punched the air in triumph, turning to cuddle up against him in a way they hadn’t really done since they were kids. “Awesome. Now. Since I’ve listened to you whine about your epic romance for the past two hours, you get to hear all about my last few dates.” 

*

Two weeks later, Marco was pacing his living room nervously, glancing at the clock above his entertainment center every ten seconds, like that would make the time pass any faster. Mario had taken a flight out of Munich this morning and his plane had touched down in Dortmund about an hour ago. Accounting for the traffic at this time of the day and knowing that everyone and their mother would be returning from their Christmas vacations, gave Marco exactly zero pointers as to when his best friend would actually arrive. 

He’d offered to pick him up from the airport, but Mario had declined and for once Marco hadn’t pressed the matter. It was unsettling, but he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d be able to restrain himself when he saw Mario for the first time in more than three weeks and there were better places to celebrate their reunion than an airport terminal with hundreds of watching eyes on them. A noise made Marco jump and he glanced around wildly, until he realized that one of his downstairs neighbors had just slammed their front door a bit harder than usual. 

Marco groaned and made himself sit down on the couch, even though his body was still thrumming with energy. He couldn’t recall ever being this nervous to see Mario in…well, never actually. His gaze fell on the gift-wrapped item on his coffee table and his stomach tried to do another soersault. Marco couldn’t believe that he was even contemplating his sister’s advice, let alone going about it in such a cheesy way. 

No matter what Mario had said at the Fair, the gesture in of itself was just so damn – corny. Mario would definitely laugh at him. And that would be the kindest turnout to the situation he was about to get himself into. Marco sighed, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. Corny or not, the alternative – actually _telling_ Mario that he was in love with him, with words and having to look him in the eye while he did – was so horrifying to Marco that he snatched up the package, feeling its edges through the wrapping paper just to make sure it was still in there.

“You really should get an alarm system.” 

Marco yelped and dropped the package, twisting around so fast he could feel the muscles in his lower back tweak. Mario was standing in the doorway, holding the spare key Marco had given him and still wrapped up in a coat and scarf, his cheeks red from the biting wind outside. The smile on his face could have lit up an entire city block. 

Marco was up and moving before he knew it, crushing Mario into a hug that was severely hampered by the backpack his best friend had slung over his shoulder. Marco didn’t care. He gripped the back of Mario’s coat, fisting his hands into the stiff fabric as he pushed his nose into his best friend’s hair and just inhaled the scent of him, a mix of wintry air and expensive shampoo. Fuck, but he’d missed him. It was like the extent of the hole his best had left behind just revealed itself to him, like Marco couldn’t even grasp all the spaces in his life Mario filled until he neatly slotted back into them. 

When he finally pulled back, the smile on Mario’s face had gotten even brighter, a thing Marco would have sworn was impossible just a minute ago. “Hey,” his best friend murmured and then he was getting up on his toes to kiss Marco and it felt like coming home. 

*

They fucked on Marco’s bed, not even managing to take all their clothes off in their hurry to get at each other. When Mario saw the irritated patches of skin the scratchy wool of his sweater had left behind on Marco’s naked chest, he laughed until Marco threatened to do unspeakable things to his favorite pair of designer jeans. 

“They’re Gucci, you animal,” Mario said indignantly and then cackled for another minute, before finally getting a hold of himself. “Oh, fine. I’m gonna grab a shower, I need to get this plane smell off of me.” 

Watching him pad naked into the bathroom was more than Marco could handle and ten minutes later he had Mario hiked up against the shower wall, pushing into him while the hot water thrummed down onto the both of them. Afterwards they found their way to the couch, Mario burrowing into his side as they watched Fight Club for what felt like the twentieth time, already decked out in sweatpants and hoodies to ensure maximum comfort. 

They were barely twenty minutes into the movie, when Mario leaned forward to grab the remote all of a sudden, muting the sound and saying “We need to talk.” in a voice that made the hair at the back of Marco’s neck stand up. That’s my line, he thought nonsensically, the confession he’d almost forgotten about in the heady rush of having Mario back with him now neon bright and flashing at the front of his mind. From the corner of his eye, Marco could see the wrapped package where he’d dropped it earlier and using his toes, he nudged it underneath the coffee table. 

Whatever Mario wanted to tell him had put him on edge, Marco could see it in every line of his body. He wondered if that tension had been there since Mario walked through the door, if in his excitement to have him back he’d simply ignored it, if Mario had, too. There was no ignoring it now, as his best friend leaned forward to clasp his hands together, rubbing his knuckles in that way he did when he was nervous. Marco suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. 

“I talked to Volker when I was in Munich,” Mario began and it took Marco a moment to remember the name of Mario’s manager. Mario had spent New Year’s in Munich with Fabian and some of his friends, but he had never mentioned Volker. 

“Okay,” he said slowly, unsure where Mario was going with this. “What about him?” 

Mario rubbed one of his knuckles particularly hard, his gaze still fixed on the floor. “He said I should probably start looking into getting a girlfriend. He offered to find someone for me, someone who would…be discrete.” 

Of all the things Marco had expected, this had not even been on the list. His mind felt blank as his thoughts narrowed down to that one word that seemed to dig itself into his chest, burying deeper and deeper and making it suddenly hard to breathe. _Girlfriend_. He blinked, trying to shake himself, to unclench the muscles that had frozen at Mario’s words and for once Marco was glad they weren’t touching.

Next to him, Mario was still talking, faster now, like he was trying to convince Marco as much as himself. “Volker thinks it might get the media to back off a bit, so I’m not scrutinized every single time I step out in public.” 

“Yeah,” Marco managed and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Makes sense.”

“I didn’t think it would happen that fast, but Volker said that he had someone in mind and that she was in town, so I agreed to meet with her.” Mario laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair that was still damp from the shower. Marco could see the faint red mark where he’d sucked a hickey into the skin high on Mario’s neck and suddenly the situation felt so surreal, he barely managed to keep from laughing. Marco wanted to tell Mario he loved him and Mario…had a girlfriend, apparently. 

“Volker said I should think about it some more, but I feel like…it’s just gonna get weirder, meeting a bunch of different women trying to figure out which one I should be in a fake relationship with. And she’s nice,” Mario added, like an afterthought. 

“What’s her name?” Marco asked, which was so not what he really wanted to say. He wanted to ask when Mario had decided all of this, how he’d met her, if he really thought that any of this would result in him being less hounded by the press and above all else _why_. Why now, why her, why had he not talked to Marco about this first. 

“Ann-Kathrin,” Mario said and Marco felt ridiculous, but he instantly disliked it, as if a part of Mario had already been taken away by giving the faceless stranger a name. 

He could feel Mario watching him and tried not to let the turmoil he felt show on his face as he glanced back to meet his eyes. “What do you think?” Mario asked softly and Marco wanted to cry, because this was just too damn perfect. He knew that if he argued against it now, Mario would listen to him, but he would also want to know why. And really, what reason could Marco give him, except his own jealousy? The wretched anguish he felt at the prospect of having to share Mario, who wasn’t his to share to begin with? They weren’t a couple, they were best friends that slept together and never had Marco felt the difference more distinctly than in that moment. How could he deny Mario the modicum of protection this type of relationship would afford him, when Marco himself would never be able to do the same for him, even if his best friend had wanted him to? Marco swallowed hard. 

Mario’s eyes on him were so bright and intent Marco barely managed to hold their gaze. “I think it’s your decision. Your life. I’ll support you no matter what, you know that.” 

For a brief moment, Marco thought he saw a flash of resignation on his best friend’s face, but then it was gone and he wasn’t sure whether it had been there in the first place. “Yeah,” Mario said and then gave a weak smile. “I think I’m gonna go call my parents, tell them I made it home okay.” 

Marco forced a smile and nodded as Mario got up and dug his phone out of the pocket of his coat, which was still lying on the floor where Marco had tossed it after tearing it off of him. Once Mario had slipped into his bedroom, the phone already at his ear, Marco bent forward quickly, retrieving the slightly rumpled package from the floor. 

The storage room in his entrance hallway was tiny and Marco barely managed to squeeze himself into the cramped space, tools, abandoned shelves and his broken patio chair making it impossible to take more than one step into the room. He pulled a carton off a shelf that rained tiny dust particles on him and ripped it open quickly, pausing before dropping the package on top of what looked like a collection of sports magazines Marco couldn’t remember ever owning. 

In a sudden fit of irritation, Marco tore the paper away and stared at the item that he’d been so sure would make his point for him. He’d had to drive nearly half an hour out of town to get it, too. By the time Mel had convinced him to tell Mario, the Christmas Fair in Dortmund had already packed up for the year. The woman who sold it to him had smiled, telling him it was a sweet gesture and that his girlfriend was lucky to have him. 

Mario’s voice, faint but still audible from the living room, finally broke him out of his trance. “Hey! Do you want some lunch?” 

“If you’re not the one making it!” Marco yelled back, heart beating hard in his chest. He could hear Mario’s snort and then his voice again. “I was thinking we might order pizza.” 

“Large pepperoni with extra cheese and tomatoes,” Marco demanded automatically and Mario’s answering laugh floated through the hallway. “Yeah, I know. I haven’t been away _that_ long. Come help me pick a starter though, I can’t decide between garlic bread and calzone. What are you even doing out there?” 

“Nothing. Be right there,” Marco said, looking down at the gingerbread heart in his hands. There was a sun on it. Marco had thought that was kind of perfect, at the time. He shoved it beneath some of the magazines and closed the lid, hoisting the box back onto the shelf. He gave the room one last glance before shutting the door behind himself, smoothing the expression on his face as he walked back into the living room. 

“So. What about that pizza, Sunny?” 

~


End file.
